


Eshoravee in Emerald

by Path



Category: A Study in Emerald - Neil Gaiman, Cthulhu Mythos - H. P. Lovecraft, The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5814154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Path/pseuds/Path
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Csevet Aisava rides to Eshoravee when he is but fifteen, and he has never seen one of Them before. But his awe and terror at the Duke can't hold a candle to the primal fear Tethimel's half-blooded son stirs in him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eshoravee in Emerald

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on the kink meme asked for a crossover between A Study in Emerald and Goblin Emperor. Though I have a lot of other ideas, Eshoravee came first.

Csevet Aisava had hated Eshovaree from long before he laid eyes on it. But he feared now he may never lay eyes on anything again in his life- should he manage to keep even that. If only-

If only he had not been exhausted from the ride and the brutal, bloody climb. If only he had not been frozen from the rain. If only he had had the leisure of a brief rest before presenting his message to the Duke- not that it would have helped, for an audience with such as the Duke was not something that could be truly prepared for. All the same, Csevet would have liked a chance to calm himself and brush the mud off his clothes. It was his first audience with one of them, but he was too tired to fear he had made a poor first impression.

He was still shaking, though the water was blessedly warm and took the worst of the ache from his bruises; of course it was not the cold or his scratches that still left his limbs trembling. _Isz to approach_ , the Duke had told him, and he had obeyed, though his legs felt they might give. 

He was called Tethimel in Ethuverazhin, though it was but a fraction of his full name, and he was ensconced in his hall as if the entire thing were his throne. Csevet had bowed nearly as low as he would to the Empress; it was best to be safe, his dispatcher had warned, and direct them more respect than their apparent rank warranted. And he had handed over his letter to the Duke’s extended, curling limb, and the Duke had read it with his many, pulsing sapphire eyes and thanked him- thanked _him!_ Incredible!- and directed him into his steward’s care, and so everything had surely gone as well as it could have.

But still he trembled.

He was but a courier, and only fifteen, and he had never been to the Cairtheileneise Court beyond its dispatch office. He had thought- dreamed- that some day, he might deliver a missive to Her Imperial Radiance, and have the chance to see her in person. Or, more likely, to be present in the Court of Stars during one of her public addresses, for then he would have no choice in attending, business or no. But the Duke had shaken him down to his core. 

He had a small handful of coins sewn into his belt for emergencies, and he squeezed one out. The greened silver lay heavy in his hand as he examined the Empress’ likeness. _However much of a likeness it_ can _be_ , Csevet thought. He found it doubtful now that whomever carved the coins of the realm for casting had managed to fit much of her on its surface. The profile was undeniably regal, though, and despite the shakes, Csevet still felt a faint flush of pride.

It was the last good feeling he had for many weeks.

He was clean, though his second set of trousers was still damp from the climb; coming out of the bathhouse into the muddy courtyard, he wondered how long he’d stay that way. The way back to the main entry was a blank to him, for he hadn’t been capable of coherent thought for some time after his audience. He wandered.

Why the men of Eshoravee should take to the courtyards even in the worst of storms was no mystery to Csevet; few would be able to share a roof with such as the Duke for long without succumbing to a passive awe or despair. The open courtyards were roofed, and the worst of the rain was kept out, but it kept in the smoke from the fires lit thoughout, and the sound echoed terribly. Some gambled- dice, for cards would be lost quickly in the vicious winds that still cut through-, some were gathered in tight circles Csevet did not like to disturb. The best option was the dog fights, where men clustered to watch; Csevet was surprised he hadn’t noticed the snarls and yelps or the calls of the men before, but it had taken him long to get rid of the shakes.

The first man he asked only ignored him, but the second turned on him with a vicious curse. The smell was beginning to get to him- not the heady and horrible smell, like rot and incense, of the audience hall, but only the smoke from the fires, and the dogs’ blood from the savage fighting. Besides, he had ridden long even before Eshoravee’s steep climb. A gust of wind swept him with smoke and ash from a nearby fire, and his eyes were stung; he sought the edge of the courtyard, hoping for a cleaner wind to come clear his head. He stumbled, and would have fallen but for a strong hand, swooping in to clamp his arm.

“Lossst, are we boy?” A nasty laugh. Csevet struggled, both to clear the sting from his smoke-clouded eyes, and to get to his feet alone. “Courier leathersss, eh? And what would a courier be looking for out here?” 

If the man’s drawl did not suggest enough, his fingers pawing at Csevet’s ass left nothing to be mistaken. Csevet thrashed; his heart had begun to hammer the moment he’d been caught, and now it bid leap straight from his chest. The man was so strong- every time Csevet got an arm free, an iron grip pulled him back in. He was forced to his knees- it felt as if the man had hands everywhere, or maybe he had a friend with him; Csevet was too blinded by smoke and tears to tell. Then something was worming inside his mouth, and he did not think. He bit down viciously on something soft and sinuous, and when the hands pulled from him, he ran.

He did not get far, of course, for Eshoravee’s courtyards hated him as its residents did, and he was cornered almost immediately. He turned, wiping a hand across his mouth- still wet with blood from the deep bite- and it came away green. He did not realize the significance immediately, for the big man was advancing on him, but he wiped his eyes, too, hoping he’d see some escape, and finally, it made a horrible, sickening sense. 

The man... no, not a man. He was undeniably noble, though his clothes were rough and smoke-stained; he had too many limbs, and they did not end in hands. One bled openly, a thick green that welled up infinitely but did not drip. His face was utterly wrong, and his eyes were all a brilliant, vibrant blue that flared in Csevet’s vision even as he turned from them. He was surely half-blooded, for he was only around seven feet tall, but he was noble. That was enough. _I have seen couriers killed for less,_ he thought.

One of the lashing limbs struck him with casual force; it hit him like a runaway horse, and threw him to the ground instantly. “What do we sssay, boyss?” Tethimar asked, for it was surely the Duke’s son, and Csevet too blind to have recognized him immediately- “Fox and houndsss?”

The men clamoured behind him, a hideous bright cheer going up to echo in the rafters. They were all big, Csevet realized- all built large with blue eyes and pale skin. Some had extra fingers or tails lashing behind it, and Csevet cursed himself for being too shocked and awed by the Duke to have paid attention before. Some held their dogs on tight chains, and the things were so clearly not of the Elflands that Csevet nearly retched.

“We will give you five minutess,” said the Duke’s son. His tendrils curled threateningly, and Csevet thought with horror- the last thought he had for a long time- that whatever Dach’osmer Tethimar had wished to inflict on him before, he would do it now and more besides. Tethimar looked up to the sky, as if considering stars hidden by Eshoravee’s roof. “Ssstarting… now,” he said, and Csevet bolted.


End file.
